"Do we have a deal?"
Damien's eyes trailed across the men before him, their eyes wide with horror. Hand shaking in fear as he stared at them, unaffected. Or so they thought, Damien's hands shook behind him, nails digging in as he swallowed back a scream.
An act Deaton took as a threat as he paled and responded, the men behind him trembled, their confidence shook at the sight of carnage, "Y-you have made your point, my prince. But killing the man isn't the same as taking over his business."
John stuttered as he tried to give a shaky smile, "A-Andrew might have been a bull headed idiot. But his men wouldn't let your actions pass." John glanced at his men, expressions of horror, etched on their faces.
Something that drained them of their confidence.
A fact he could have appreciated, if his arm didn't feel like it was soaked in flames, an insurmountable pain to be sure but one that he was used to. That's why he hid it by taking small, deliberate steps, each one taking their attention as he coughed in his hand, blood splattering inside his fist.
A sight that he hid as he grabbed the dead old man by his blood soaked hair, Andrew's jaw hanging out. "Do you mean this Andrew? Do not worry, gentlemen." He glanced at Delilah, eyes locking with understanding, the pain in his body mounting.
He cannot hold the screams back once the pain crawled its way to his chest.
But he still grinned, eyes locking unto the two men before him, black spots appearing throughout his vision. "There's a reason the Countess here didn't bring her men. A reason why the Black Rose has been silent as of late."
The room froze at the revelation and Delilah took this chance to speak as she pushed out a collection of contracts, "I have sortied the best assassins I have for this operation, my husband sent his men. I hope this will show to you my conviction. Though, I assure you, both of you shall benefit just as I."
Delilah pulled on the thread on her finger as it tightened, shimmering into existence around them, forcing the weapons down while those who resisted lost their arms in the attempt and they screamed out a soft melody.
"The contracts should hold more than enough assurance."
The physical threat was left unsaid.
John hurriedly bowed, hand shivering behind him, blood dripping over his face as his men screamed, wrists gone. "Well, there's no reason to decline, is there? I assume that this partnership will remain just as before and shall benefit us four. Isn't that right, Deaton?" His eyes screamed otherwise.
Deaton bowed alongside him, the blood of his men splattered all over his clothes. "My Prince, it is an honor for me to serve you and the Imperial cause. I hope you give this humble man your understanding." The shake of his shoulder, evident.
Damien waved his hand, blood splattering around his smile as his chest throbbed, the pain creeping slowly on his chest. "Oh my, then I suppose I have nothing to worry about." He turned around and walked back to the door. "Oh and it is a delight to work with you, gentlemen. And I hope you do well not to betray me."
"Of course!" They yelled as Damien turned his back at them, hand over his chest as the throbbing intensified, he swiveled his eyes to Lilith, "Oh, right! My dearest Lilith, this young prince needs his cute fiancee to accompany him."
"For tonight." He winked at her and slammed the door shut.
And then, like unshackled chains, with no one else to see. The quick and violent repercussions of his magic roared in like a flood. His body shuddered as he felt his head crack open, his nerves torching itself to cinders as his knees buckled under the immensity of his own weight.
He laid his back to the walls, blood dripping between his fingers as his vision faded, the last thing he saw was sweet orbs of lavender, yes… just like his mother.
Maybe he won't be surviving this, after all.
His consciousness faded before his eyes snapped open.
Only to be greeted by a dark hallway, a soft hum echoing through the halls. The familiar sight made him smile. "It is a delight to be visited by such a gift." He giggled in his hand as he took a step forward, the hum turning into a familiar whisper.
But with each step through the darkness, each step with his shoes clicking against the floor, the darkness beckoned, the whispers turning into shouts, then the shouts turn into a loud sob, dominating everything into silence.
That was… before it stopped
And the darkness receded and Damien was left standing alone before a door. His shoes splashing against the floor.
Sometimes, he wondered if resorting to this torture was right.
But he needs to live well, doesn't he?
To know what his purpose in life was, he needed a reminder.
With such a thought, the door faded into a sight to behold for any man!
A sight he stood there, admiring.
Admiring a woman dancing under the blood stained moon.
Her lavender orbs flickering under the light as crimson rained and took the room by storm. The men jumped away as she swung, hands sharpened like edges. The men unable to follow, fell, wailing at her magnificence.
Then came the raucous noise. one crashing along her steps.
The clanging of metal, the striking of wood and ripping of fabric.
Each one answered with a swing, each one dealt with severity. But, as she danced, the noise roared, nipping away at her melody. And in response, batons formed between fingers as the tune in her hand grabbed the men by their throats, pushing them back at the edge, waltzing her way in their ranks.
Damien watched her in all her beauty, the melody upping to a crescendo before her face flashed crimson, dyeing her black dress red as it all blended into the night.
Then her movements turned desperate, darkness swimming beneath her skin as her strikes became more manic, her movements more uncontrolled as the men swarmed in her direction and forced the men into her song.
Each one aching to touch her form in their last breath.
Dozens more fell, dozens more wailed and a hundred more died. Damien took it all in, watching her every move. Listening to every breath, taking her very scent as the world around her crumbled, the blood dripping from her smile, eyes crying crimson.
Her beauty etched itself into his mind, a beautiful tragedy.
It was an experience no man should have felt.
The art of love and death.
A perfect art in all its forms.
Yet, every perfect thing must come to an end.
And it ended in a bow, blood flooding beneath her feet, chest rising in soft heaves, head laid back the door, the blood dripping from her satisfied smile.
Satisfied of the fact she saved her son.
The door he was watching then burst open. Soft splashes echoing through the night as a young boy ran into his mother's arms. The predictable and inevitable end of her song, making him smile.
Too many tears have been shed, too many nights spent sobbing.
He looked into his hand and saw the tears drop, he supposed it wasn't enough.
He turned his back and his facade cracked, his sobs echoing the child before him.
A soft whisper making its way to his ears, "Damien, live well."
"I will, mother." A promise that remained unfulfilled.
He wondered if a legacy would satisfy her wish.